


Excelsior

by fullmetal anime (sunkelles)



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions
Genre: Agender Character, Character Study, Other, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:41:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21575422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/fullmetal%20anime
Summary: N has his ideals, but you have the truth. Sometimes, though, truth hurts.
Relationships: N | Natural Harmonia Gropius/Touko | Hilda, N | Natural Harmonia Gropius/Touya | Hilbert
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	Excelsior

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. the MC is kind of hilda, kind of hilbert, mainly neither? i've always been interested in the idea of someone who's trapped in the persona of a video game character who's being flipped between multiple "gender" options and never felt content with or attached to either of them. i think that if they were to choose a word for their gender it would be agender.  
> 2\. this is kind of incoherent and pretentious? i'm working on a more coherent fic for this pairing rn and this fic here is basically composed of the darlings i wasn't prepared to kill.  
> 3\. enjoy!

Sometimes you are Hilda. Sometimes you are Hilbert. Touko or Touya. Black or White. Endless names on top of that, generated from infinite places. 

Sometimes you are “boy” and sometimes you are “girl”. Most times you feel like neither- flip the body, keep the script- nonbinary, agender. Something apart from what the world expects from you whenever you inhabit a certain body. Trans cend, trans port, trans gender. The names don’t matter. The genders don’t matter. Even the bodies don't matter. Not really. 

You never get used to a body or name or set of pronouns before the universe seems to change around you again. The first time it happens, you open your mouth and a slightly lower voice comes out. You notice that you’ve changed clothes into something that you didn’t even know that you had, and then you touch your hair. It’s shorter than it used to be. You scream in your new lower voice, clutching your shorter hair. 

It doesn't change anything, and by the time you've gotten used to your new body, it's shifted again. You get used to transcendence, impermanence. You kind of have to, or else you'd get used to nothing at all. 

_His_ name is Natural Harmonia Gropius. N for short. He is _the_ He. The sun that Team Plasma orbits around. It seems, almost, that he orbits around _you_. You Hilda-Hilbert-Player that you are. Maybe it’s natural that he fixates on you, but it feels wrong. You are not aware that you are beloved of the gods. 

Perhaps you are the moon- absorbing bits and pieces of his sunlight in order to shine at all. You never felt as smart or tough as Cheren, never felt as sweet or enthusiastic as Bianca. You turned out to be the best trainer of the three of you, but it never felt _earned._ The world seems to bend over backwards to accommodate you, but you never felt like it was because you were great. It just seemed like it was because you were _you_. The center of the universe.

You always sought the truth, but it felt too elusive, confusing. The truth never did live up to ideals that N was pursuing, even when he seems to get caught up in you while searching for them. 

He is obsessed; you are obsession. 

His hair grows green, just like the grass- the nature he wants to return to. Pure and fresh and growing, like Liligant, like Whimiscott. The Pokemon he’s so determined to separate from humans. 

He is annointed. King of kings. Lord of lords. Ghestis claims that N is the Hero of Unova born again- come to sever people from Pokemon forever. You love your starter (that Samurott or Emboar or Servperior, the specifics don’t matter- they change every day anyway) and love your other Pokemon too. You can’t imagine losing them, and can’t imagine imagine they’d want to lose you anymore than you want to lose them. 

N can sew stories clean and bright as stories on tapestries, but he cannot change your mind when you know the truth. You are as sure and steadfast as he is in your love of Pokemon. Maybe that’s what he admires about you. The only good trainer, as he seems to think of you. 

N is soft and warm. He is like the sunlight that hits the earth, filtered by lightyears of travel rather than being like the sun itself. 

He does not seem to want to burn the witches rather than lead them down a different path- a teacher instead of an executioner. 

N himself is a flower of a boy, but there is rot growing underneath him. The grunts are angry, bitter people. The shadows sneaking- the sages plotting. But N spreads his sweetness over the bloated, rotted corpse of Team Plasma and makes it smell as sweet as a Bellosom. It’s not as sweet as a Bellosom and you know that for the truth it is. You wish that you could convince him of that. 

You hold your starter’s Pokeball in your hand, reminding yourself that your Pokemon have not yet been taken. N's new Zekrom, the Pokemon of idealists, flaps its godly wings. N grins wide. 

“Zekrom supports my ideals," he tells you, "maybe Reshiram will support yours." 

"He will," you promise him, your words echoing through the halls of Dragonspire Tower, "when I find him, he'll make you see the truth. I know that he will." N will finally see the rot beneath Team Plasma's lovely veneer when you find Reshiram; you _know_ he will. Ideals can't override the truth; even N can't make that happen. 

"I suppose we'll solve that with a battle, won't we?" he says, grinning like a battle between gods will be the same as that time your starter faced his Purrloin. And maybe it is. Maybe that battle was a battle of ideals vs truth all along. You have to find Reshiram as soon as you can. If N is ideals, you are _truth,_ and Reshiram and Zekrom cannot be separate long. 

  
  


A battle of black and white, dragon and dragon- blurs. Finally, a victor. You- the Player. You've shifted the universe around you. 

“I think I almost liked you,” N says after truth conquers ideals. And you feel like you're being ripped apart, fractals of you flying everywhere like a Graveler who just used self-destruct. 

“Thanks,” you grit out, “I think I almost care.” He frowns for a moment, as if some of your toxic has finally gotten through and poisoned his idealist’s spirit. Ghestis takes N's heart and rips it out of his chest then, taking all of his ideals and shredding them up like trash. You defeat Ghestis with Reshiram, with _tr_ _uth,_ but sometimes the truth hurts. N leaves in search of himself, and Zekrom and Reshiram are separate again, obsession from obsessed, N from Player. 

When he leaves, it feels like he rips out your heart too. 

  
  
  


You stare at the Ferris Wheels until the circle of the lights embeds itself in your vision- scars its way into your eyeballs. N never comes back. 

You are now obsessed, and _he_ is obsession. The world is topsy turvy, curved on an axis it was never meant to have. Black is white and white is black; Reshiram without Zekrom. The truth is that you are alone. The ideal is that you would like to not be, that you would like to find N and figure out whatever this thing is that you have between you. But if you've learned anything from Reshiram's victories, from N's loses, it's that truth always beats ideals. And the truth is that you are alone. You think that you might always be. 

N makes you want to _tear out your hair_. Slowly. Piece by piece. As if the pain will stop reminding you that he’s gone and he’s stupid and he he thinks he “almost liked you”. 

  
  
You tear the region apart, searching in every nook and cranny. You spend days at the Ferris Wheel, looking into its lights until you are almost blind. You spend so long sitting in Chargestone Cave that a Joltik tries to lay its eggs in your hair. You finally come to the Tower where he found Zekrom and plant yourself there. It's not likely to bring him back to you, but that's never stopped you from planting yourself at one of the other locations where you met. Dragonspire Tower looms over you like a legend, its shadow consuming you the way that Reshiram's does whenever you let him out of the Pokeball. You consider letting him out to splash around in the water, but you hear footsteps before you move.

You turn around, fully expecting to see anyone except the man that you're looking for. But there he is, N, his hair pulled back into an elaborate braid, baseball cap sitting on the top of his head. 

“I looked for you everywhere,” you say numbly. He sits down beside you, gently. 

"I know," he says, "I'm sorry. I had to find myself first." And you feel rage bubbling inside of you, but mainly you just feel _ridiculous_. It's been months, and you find him when you're knee deep and splashing in the water. You laugh, and you kick your foot in his direction so the water splatters all over him. It splashes all over you too, but you feel _vindicated_ that he gets wetter than you do. Droplets of water stain both of your pants. The water has already tennis shoes all the way through to your socks, but you see his white socks turn a darker color as well. He's soaked too.

"Well," you say, "I'm already soaked." Then, you dive in. The water is cold, but not so cold that you're shivering. You come up giggling, and your wet hair plasters itself all over your face. He looks at you in concern. 

"Did you mean to do that?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. You roll your eyes and paddle towards him.

"What do you think?" you ask. Then, you grab him by the hand and drag him in after you. He flails around in the water for a second, hair spinning behind him like a terrified Charmander's tail. Then, his strokes calm down. He switches to treading water. 

"You know," he says, paddling closer to you, "this is kind of fun." You can't believe that you spent months looking for this boy, and this is the most you can get out of him. 

"Why are you here?" you ask, "I searched for you, but you weren't searching for me." He frowns. 

"Of course I searched for you," he says, "as soon as I found me, I had to find _you_." 

"Well, that's good," you say, "I think I almost liked you." He blushes at that. 

“I _do_ like you,” he says, with all the certainty he used to say that people and Pokemon should be separated. All that conviction, directed at you. You, ever-changing in everything but essence. Everything but the truth of the universe. You laugh then, and wrap your arms around him, water splashing around you both like an aqua ring around a Tympole. 

"You know," you say, "I think I like you too." He smiles and his green eyes light up like suns. Maybe Ghestis was right. Maybe there is something in this boy that was meant to be king. 

You wrap your arms around him, kissing, and you feel the size and shape of your body seeming to shift in and out of consciousness, the way that it always has. Changeable, changeable Hilda-Hilbert-Player. Everything shifting but the truth of your essence. The truth of _his_ essence. If anything is permanent, it is this: the bond between you and N. Black and White. Heroes. Shapers. Shifters. Tamers of dragons. The Heroes of Unova, hand in hand, you feel the universe flowing between the two of you. You sneak a glance over to him and see the constellations reflected in his eyes. Then, you lift your own eyes to see the truth of existence for yourself. 

  
  


The stars spread out above you- the universe expanding outwards onwards and upwards, _excelsior._


End file.
